Tagged: nephew

Ah, Aren’t You the Clever Nephew

  • by Kent: smart assassins
  • little Eskimo girls
  • go around all day long with a harp
  • “You’ll be playing an elderly butler.”
  • I’m not a fan of things that obscure the female body

Tune in next time part 310      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Ah, aren’t you the clever nephew,” the Mizzenpriestess — our aunt Xylona — said to Jason. I let the misunderstanding pass. She went on, “That’s just what we need right now: smart assassins.”

“Which is he?” I asked. “A nephew, or an assassin?”

“Why can’t I be both?” Jason complained.

Xylona pursed her lips and squinted at me. “We don’t need smart-asses; I said smart assassins.” Then she winked, her left eye becoming momentarily twice as squinty. “Now, why hasn’t John come out yet? The plane’s all gassed up.”

“You’re the pilot?” Jason asked. “Can you get us off this rock?”

“Darling nephew, I can fly you to the place where little Eskimo girls go around all day long with a harp.”

“Why not a harp seal?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

She gave me another borderline scowl. “You’ll be playing an elderly butler.” Then she smiled. “If they even let you join their band. Now tell John to stop clowning around in that hut and let’s go.”

I noticed that Tessa was also unaccounted for, so I nominated myself to return to the hut and see what was going on. Tessa was still up on her rafter, with Jove jumping around trying to catch her in a way that filled me with the desire to give him back his jodhpurs. As for John, he was becoming better acquainted with Carla.

I’m not a fan of things that obscure the female body, and John’s derriere was proving to be no exception.

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I Received a Visit From My Nephew Today

  • k-avatarheavy in his breast pocket
  • Yours sincerely, Gordon K.
  • tracks leading off into the blinding snow
  • an industry catering to “needs”
  • like pumpernickel bread
  • with a lip-smacking sigh
  • a band of earnest, friendly gnomes

I received a visit from my nephew today, a band of earnest, friendly gnomes heavy in his breast pocket. He wished to discuss a business loan, which is the reason for this letter. He would tell me little of his scheme, except that it is an industry catering to “needs.” He spoke these words with a lip-smacking sigh, his close-cropped dark hair, like pumpernickel bread, betraying the tingle in his scalp.

Eventually I had to send him away. I can still see his tracks leading off into the blinding snow.

I would greatly appreciate if you could spare a moment to apply your prodigious knowledge of gnomes, and their needs, to the question of my nephew’s scheme’s viability.

Yours sincerely, Gordon K.

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My Left Lung Contains Compressed Natural Gas

  • k-avatarMy left lung
  • “Doc! Moose!”
  • and her pet Arthur
  • unfamiliar with “flipping the bird”
  • Puerto Rico meant nothing to her
  • “Survival of the fittest,” she hissed
  • “Far worse, Uncle Kent,”

My left lung contains compressed natural gas, which gives me a formidable weapon but impairs my stamina. My partner’s toenails can generate an electromagnetic pulse, making her a threat to sensitive electronics and augmenting her tap dancing.

“Doc! Moose!” That had to be Biff, counteragent and general numbskull, calling for his associates. We were in danger.

My partner rounded a corner in the warehouse and stopped short, confronted by all three of our enemies. I peered past her to see the men’s disappointed faces as they discovered she was unfamiliar with “flipping the bird.” Suddenly she leapt aside, and the bullets struck me instead. Moments later she returned fire, dispatching her clueless adversaries.

“Wait,” I groaned as she started to leave.

“Survival of the fittest,” she hissed. Puerto Rico meant nothing to her.

The gunshots had embedded harmlessly in the kevlar envelope surrounding my left lung, but I was woozy. I just needed a hand up, but she was abandoning me for dead. So I flicked my lighter and exhaled forcefully, roasting her where she stood.

Her, and her pet Arthur the Mouse who always rode in her pocket.

“Can this day get any worse?” I muttered.

“Far worse, Uncle Kent,” came my evil nephew’s chilling retort.

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Atop The Desolate Hill

In this special holiday edition, the stichomancy prompt phrases were all taken from Christmas carols. Not that Kent let that cramp his style. Happy Boxing Day!

  • there arose such a clatter
  • laughing all the way
  • was a jolly, happy soul
  • heedless of the wind and weather
  • five golden rings
  • the fire is slowly dying

Atop the desolate hill, the fire is slowly dying, revealing five golden rings among the embers. Dvortmund has come here, heedless of the wind and weather, to enact the rite of binding, and sanctify his bid for power.

Once, Dvortmund was a jolly, happy soul, but when his family cast him out he became a twisted maniac. Soon they will pay.

He sprints down the hill toward the manor house, laughing all the way. His laughter alerts the sentries, who shoot him with muskets. The shots bring forth his family, and they assemble around his fallen form.

“Last time there arose such a clatter, I got presents,” proclaims his nephew.

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Steve Walked Up To The Counter

  1. Character – interior designer
  2. Setting – shopping mall
  3. Object – lunar rock
  4. Situation – dropped a contact

Steve walked up to the counter with his purchases – a “moon rock” and two hand-crafted replica ceremonial masks “from Honduras.” These seasonal stores at the mall sure made his job simpler.

“Forty-three Seventy-five. Charge? Okay.”

Steve ran his hands through his long hair while the cashier waited for her machine. She was an older unit – the cashier, not the machine – but had a tattoo peeking out over her low collar.

“So you collect this stuff?”

“It’s for a client. I’m an interior designer.”

“Hey! My nephew would love to meet you.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes tightly, causing his right contact to pop out. “I’m not gay, alright? Just because a guy has long hair and decorates for a living doesn’t automatically make him gay!”

The cashier wilted. “Jimmy’s not gay either. He just bought a new house, though.”

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Leonard is a Strange Person

  • by jenthe kitchen will have been aired out
  • I’ve been up for x-rays
  • making it a family affair
  • had seen that ghostly face!
  • until it was eleven
  • Leonard is a strange person

Leonard is a strange person. How I wish I never had seen that ghostly face! But see it I did on that fateful February day, along with my wife, my sister-in-law, and my six nephews, making it a family affair.

I’ve been up for for x-rays numerous times since in a futile attempt to discern what Leonard did to us, but so far the doctors have been unable to offer a diagnosis.

Whatever Leonard, that strange person, did it caused us all to become confused about our favorite television programs, and is most confounding.

My poor wife will open the kitchen window for a moment to clear the smell of frying sausages, but will become distracted pondering whether she prefers David Letterman or Conan O’Brien, and by the time she figures it out the kitchen will have been aired out until it was eleven degrees!

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